


Details

by kameo_chan



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Gen, Pre-Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-29
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kameo_chan/pseuds/kameo_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sten and Morrigan and a conversation, of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Details

**Author's Note:**

> Largely the fault of Sten and Morrigan's party banter. What comes, indeed.

The camp is quiet as night fades slowly to the formless grey of dawn and the fire has died down to embers when Morrigan returns from a night spent prowling the countryside in wolven form to find Sten seated at the edge of their camp on a sturdy piece of stump.

She swishes her tail, thinks of surprising him and then effortlessly slips into her own shape as he rumbles, "Is there a reason your eyes linger where they should not?" Morrigan smirks at that and moves to settle herself next to the gigantic figure of the Qunari.

"So tell me, Sten. This... act of your people. How much protection would be required for a human to participate?" Morrigan presses close to the Qunari, arms to her sides because she knows all too well how it makes her bosom swell. He is a fine specimen of his people, although she feels a pang of regret that he has not their typical horns. Were she to care about such trivialities, she would admit to liking horns a great deal.

"Enough that you would be bogged down and hardly able to breathe," he replies in his almost-terse manner, and Morrigan titters. He shoots her a sideways glance and grunts. "I assume you find the prospect of being crushed to death amusing. It is not."

"Oh, that is hardly what worries me. I am much more resilient than might be imagined," she says deviously. "No, what I wonder is whether the inability to breathe would stem from the armour, or from uninhibited rutting?"

There is silence for beat, and she is almost sure she has finally caught him off-guard, when the reply comes. "Both."

And before she can catch herself, Morrigan boggles at the words. It is only when she finally notices the silent heave of Sten's large, well-muscled chest that she realizes she has been had.

"Cad, 'tis not polite to trick a lady!" she berates and elbows him in the side.

"I see no ladies here, only a witch with her tongue wagging in the wind," Sten replies flatly, although he doesn't try very hard to hide the smug smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Ugh. 'Tis no wonder Mother took only the Chasind men to her bed. At least they knew enough to keep their swords sharp and their wits dull," Morrigan mutters, and to her surprise, this draws a single guffaw from the giant beside her.

"You would make a good Tamassran, wielding that tongue of yours as keenly as any whip," he says when he finally regains himself. They settle then into a silence which, while not entirely comfortable, is not exactly unpleasant either. On the horizon, the first feelers of sunlight crawl slowly across the heavens, heralding daybreak.

"You still have not told me what your version of coupling entails," Morrigan muses, contemplating her companion.

"That is the point," Sten says and rises, seeming to stretch endlessly towards the heavens. "Perhaps I will tell you one day, when you are ready." And with that, he walks off to wake the others for another long, arduous day of travel. Morrigan turns his words over in her mind and smiles wickedly at the Qunari's retreating back.

"Indeed," she purrs, and slinks off to go pester Alistair about his utter lack of anything even remotely resembling a fully-functioning mind.


End file.
